She blushed faintly and lowered her head. “Okay.”
The room instantly buzzed with energy.
Someone blurted out jokingly, “Sir, that’s pretty close for just colleagues! Miss Zamora doesn’t seem like just a director, huh?”
Ross glanced back, his lips curving in a faint but casual smile. “She’s my fiancée.”
At those words, the air froze.
Then came the outburst—cheers, gasps, and congratulations all at once.
“Fiancée?”
“Are you serious?”
“Sir, you really kept that low-key!”
Zamora covered her mouth with a dainty smile, her voice soft and perfectly measured. “We’re getting married soon. I hope you all join the party.”
Applause and laughter rippled through the room like waves.
People crowded around them, smiling and offering congratulations.
Ross stood in the middle of it all—calm, collected, wearing that same gentle smile on his face.
Meanwhile, my world fell completely silent in that instant.
I lowered my eyes, feeling my heart twist tight.
I’d told myself over and over that I didn’t care anymore.
But standing there, the pain still hit me without warning.
I had waited eight years for Ross to say just one sentence. “She’s my fiancée.”
Eight long years.